“But you don’t like me,” I remind him in a choked whisper.
“Not even a little.”
I’d ask why, but I’m not sure I want to know the answer.
“I don’t like you, either,” I say instead, willing a smidgeon of truth into the harsh line of my jaw. Willing him to believe the lie…willing the lie to morph into irrefutable truth.
“Glad to hear it, because that makes what I’m about to do much easier.” He presses forward until the backs of my legs hit the velvet cushion of a lounge chair. “Sit.”
“Wait,” I protest. Just because I’m unequivocally attracted to him doesn’t mean I’m ready to spread out before him, exposed and vulnerable. It was hard enough doing it the first time, when I was only naked from the waist down, and we had the rest of the Brotherhood surrounding us, not to mention the cold and sterile setting of an examination room as a backdrop. That day, the scorn on his face left no doubt of his feelings toward me.
Now there’s something else in his expression. A hunger, a need, a softness that wasn’t there before. Maybe even an openness.
And the setting is too cozy and inviting with an undertone of sexual awareness…and we’re alone with no distractions on the horizon for the next three hours.
“Novalee, sit your ass down.” His voice comes out thick as if he wants to say more but doesn’t. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”
I hesitate—a deceptive protest—but his irritable patience wins out. I lower into the chair, limbs tight and awkward as I palm my breasts and press my thighs together, rendered more defenseless than I can stand.
Propping himself up with one hand on the back of the lounge, he leans over and adjusts the necklace until it nestles in the valley of my cleavage. Then, bottom lip tucked between his teeth, he arranges my arms over my head before inching my legs apart to expose my most intimate place.
The one that’s inflamed with liquid heat from the graze of his fingers on my thighs.
“I saw the portraits you did for him. This isn’t how the women posed.”
“You’re different.”
I’m holding my breath, heart diving into a free fall as he sifts my hair between his fingers. The strands slip through his loose grip like fine silk, and he seems mesmerized, further wrecking my shield against this man.
“Why am I different?”
“I never wanted the other models.” He arranges the locks over my breasts, and a devious part of me rejoices at the hard-on he’s got from fondling my hair.
I’m tempted to grow it to my feet now.
Pushing off the lounge, he strides across the room to where his canvas awaits. As he sets up his supplies and moves a stool in front the easel, I will my cheeks to cool. But I don’t harbor such power. It’s all I can do to keep my thighs open, because if I close them, and he touches me again, I might beg him for more.
“Stop squirming. I know your pussy’s hot and wet, but I need you to stay still for this.”
God, I must be a thousand shades of embarrassed. His cruel smirk tells me it’s true. Forcing my muscles to relax, I settle in for the next hour as his brush strokes the canvas.
“I’ve never painted a woman so aroused before.” He shoots me a sexy, amused smile.
“Were your previous subjects zombies?” The retort escapes before I can stop it.
His grin widens. “They were as hot-blooded as you, princess. Just not as innocent.”
I despise how the nickname has grown on me. He’s the only one who calls me that. And he’s the only one, besides Liam, who makes me want to shed my innocence. A sharp pang radiates through my chest, because my intense attraction to Sebastian feels like a betrayal to Liam.
At the end of the first hour, he shifts in front of his work. “You’re fucking gorgeous. I can’t wait for you to see it.”
I sit forward, but he gives a stern shake of his head. “I didn’t say you could move.”
“I want to see it.”
“You will, after.” Abandoning the paintbrush, he saunters in my direction.
“It’s time for your payment, then?” I arch a challenging brow, but I’m shaking on the inside. The closer his purposeful steps bring him, the quicker my composure crumbles.
“Something like that.” He halts between my legs, rough denim grazing my inner thighs, and my toes curl as his gaze travels the length of my body. “You heard the man. No orgasms.”
I bite back a whimper, fighting to keep my thighs from pressing against his legs. “He’s evil.”
Sebastian laughs. “To you, maybe.” Putting one hand on the back of the lounge, he leans over until we’re face to face. “But I’m going to enjoy this.” Slowly, he dips his fingers between my legs, and I swallow a moan.